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A picture of Kyir—or, part of him, rather—already glistening with precum.
And then, a single word text.
Hurry. – Kyir
A long rush of air pushed from my lungs, my mouth watering as I took a second look at the picture before typing my reply.
On the way.
“Ay,” I heard, prompting me to look up from the screen to where my rideshare driver was peering at me in the rearview mirror.
“Yeah?”
“Whoever got you looking at your phone like that should definitely be picking you up from the airport. I know that’s outside my business, but… just saying.” He shrugged.
“You’re right, it’s outside your business.” I laughed, unbothered by the intrusiononlybecause his tone indicated he really thought he was being helpful. “But also it’s not… it’s not likethat,” I tried to explain, pointlessly.
He chuckled, raising an eyebrow at me. “Damn, I need somebody tonot be like thatabout me the way you are,” he said, pulling up to Kyir’s building. “You got your bag?”
“I do, thank you,” I told him, climbing out of the car.
“You’re welcome. Unless you tell me otherwise, I’ll wait ’til you’re inside.”
“Oh. Uh… that’s very chivalrous,” I said, lowkey wanting to tell him to move on, but I couldn’t get in unless Kyirletme in, and it was hella late—or early, depending on who you asked—and spring was in full effect in the Heights, represented by a warm, steady drizzle.
So… yeah.
I wasn’t going to turn it down.
The only bag I had was the carry-on I’d traveled with and I hooked it over my shoulder as I climbed out of the car. Under the relatively dry conditions of the awning, I shot Kyir a text to let him know I was downstairs.
A moment later, a low, melodic chime nearby let me know I could draw the door open. I waved to the driver, making sure the entry was securely latched behind me as he pulled off.
Only then could I find it in me to let out a relieved breath.
This visit was so,sonecessary.
Kyir hadn’t actually responded to the text, beyond letting me in his building, but I didn’t read into it. I knew better. I bypassed the lobby, giving up my chance to use the elevator in favor of not being seen by anyone who might be lingering.
It wasn’t a tall building, so the three flights up to the loft—the penthouse he refused to call by its true name, for fear of giving off a vibe of nonexistent pretention—went quick. With each step closer to his door, my nervous energy—and arousal—built.
By the time I was lifting my fist to knock, I was practically vibrating with it.
He didn’t make me wait, which I appreciated. Never any games with him, which added a whole other layer to his appeal.
Layers he didn’t need.
His door swung open wide, inviting, and he stood there in the doorframe—smooth mahogany skin, dark sweats hanging low on his hips to expose black boxers, a slim gold cross that never left his neck.
“Need?” he asked, his lips spread in a smirk.
I stepped in, not backing down from his gaze. “I meant it.”
“Well shit—”
“But I need a shower first,” I insisted, raising a hand to stop his approach. He ignored it, simply walking into my palm and forcing me to pull back as he invaded my space.
“You made it seem urgent,” he murmured in my ear as he grabbed me, fingers sinking into my hips. “Was that a lie, Brookie?”
